“It’s not negotiable,” I said. “His mother’s house. I’ll let you know the when. And he has to have the chance to spend some time with his mother, no interference, before you take him away.”

“You’re going to get him killed,” said McDeiss.

“No I won’t, Detective, because you’ll be there to protect him. I have total faith in your abilities.”

“Don’t even try to sweet-talk me,” said McDeiss. “And how are you going to get him there?”

“I’ll figure that out.” I nodded toward Slocum. “And when I do, I’ll call Larry on the cell with the exact time and day. He’ll relay it on.”

“So that’s it?” said Slocum. “Everything’s settled?”

“Well, almost everything,” I said.

“Here it comes,” said McDeiss.

“Why so cynical, Detective?” I said.

“I’ve dealt with you before, and I’m still looking for my wallet.”

“Remember that painting? The Rembrandt? Well, Charlie might have been a little mistaken about the painting. He did have it, once, but he’s not sure that he has it anymore. It might have up and disappeared on him. Bit of a mistake on my part there.”

“No painting,” said Slocum.

“Sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Wish I was, but no. Too bad, really. I always like pictures of guys in funny hats, but it seems bringing up the painting was just Charlie’s way of getting attention.”

“But the Rembrandt was the point of the whole thing from the start,” said Slocum.

“Maybe at the start, but the key to this deal now is Charlie’s testimony about the Warrick gang and the missing girl. Best I can tell, none of you gives a damn about the painting, and neither do I. The Randolph Trust is just going to have to make do with its other five hundred masterworks.”

“You know it is a crime to sell a stolen artwork,” said Slocum.

“Maybe I missed the meaning of immunity.”

“We can’t countenance a crime.”

“Remember what I said about there being no painting.”

“And if we don’t agree?”

“The story’s going to come out anyway, I’m going to see to that. My client’s truest ally all along has been the press, and we’re going to use it this one last time. So after the story comes out, either you’ll have cooperative witnesses that can pretty much make your case or everyone will know about the murderer you let go free because of your abiding love of the fine arts.”

“I’M BRINGING him home, Lav,” I said into the phone.

“You silly wabbit,” said Lavender Hill. “You silly, silly wabbit.”

“I knew you’d be pleased. Did your client enjoy our visit?”

“He was entranced.”

“He’s going down.”

“Not without a fight, I assure you.”

“And you, Lav, are you his designated champion?”

“All I am is a procurer.”

“It’s good that you found your rightful place in the universe. So he’s got someone else to do the hard work, is that it?”

“The way you run around like a fatted goose without its head, it will not be so hard. Is this still about that girl whose photograph you showed me?”

“Yes it is.”

“Did you discover the truth?”

“Yes I did, and let me assure you, he’s going down. What were your financial arrangements with your client?”

“None of your sweet business, darling.”

“I assume he paid you something up front, because an operative of your caliber doesn’t work on credit. But has he, as of yet, paid for the object in question?”

“Arrangements have been made.”

“Escrow?”

“Not exactly. Why?”

“What would happen if, as a condition of procuring this little doodle, I insisted it not go to your client in L.A.?”

“Are the negotiations back on track?”

“With my added condition.”

“You are a font of surprises, aren’t you? I am not an idle man, Victor. I anticipated possible financial problems with my original client and I have made arrangements with other collectors whom I have worked for in the past.”

“So even if the painting doesn’t go to L.A., payments would be forthcoming.”

“That would be correct.”

“Tell your other collectors to get out their checkbooks. Maybe we’ll open it up to bids, boost those commissions.”

“What a delicious possibility.”

“Be available.”

“Oh, Victor, trust me on this, I will be more than available. But let me ask, are we getting a tad greedy, dear boy?”

“Lav, let’s just say it’s about time I took the leap.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” said Beth as we walked toward a small row house in an old neighborhood just off the Cobbs Creek Parkway in West Philly.

“I need you to test the security arrangements put in place by McDeiss, maybe direct them away from where I intend to go.”

“So I’ll be your decoy.”

“Decoy is such a loaded term.”

“Not as loaded as their guns will be.”

“You can stay out of it if you want.”

“No, Victor. Of course I want to help. It’s just that you studiously kept me out of everything involving the Kalakos case, including the boondoggle to L.A. that left you all fat and sunburned, and suddenly you want me to run around with a target on my back.”

“I kept you out to protect you.”

“And I feel so safe now as your decoy. When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stay by your cell and be ready to ride when I call.”

“Okay.”

“You might have to rent a car. I’ll let you know the model as soon as I know.”

“Okay.”

“You’re fabulous.”

“I’m a fool.”

“That, too. Do we have to stay long?”

“No,” she said as we reached the right address. “Just go in, get a few congratulatory hurrahs, drink a beer or two.”

“I hate these things.”

“It was a big victory for Theresa. She got her daughter back in her life. Now she wants to celebrate and thank us.”

“If it wasn’t for the honor, I’d just as soon drink alone.”

We were heading up the stoop to Theresa Wellman’s new place. There was music coming through the open door, loud and rhythmic, there were people hanging out on the porch. We edged our way through the small crowd and inside.

“Hello, both of you,” said an exuberant Theresa Wellman over the pounding of the music. She was wearing a print dress and a bit too much jewelry, and she had a drink in her hand. “Thank you so much for coming. You’re the heroes of the hour.”

“Oh, we just put on the evidence,” said Beth. “The hero of the hour is you.”

“Don’t be slighting yourselves. You saved my life, got me my girl back. Thank you. Both of you.”

“What’s that you’re drinking?” I said.

She looked down at the glass, back up at me. “Ginger ale. There’s more soda in the kitchen and a cooler of beer in the dining room. Loosen up, Victor. Why are you wearing a suit to a party anyway?”

“I wear a suit to the beach,” I said.

“We’ll find the cooler, Theresa,” said Beth. “Thanks.”

“Victor, Beth. Really, I’m so glad you came. Thank you. For everything.”

She gave Beth a hug, gave me a smile. Sometimes the job almost seems worth it. Maybe clerks at 7-Eleven get paid better, but no one hugs you when you get them that pack of cigarettes from behind the counter.

It was a pretty loud and happening party. The music was ripe, there was laughter and dancing, women enough to loosen my tie. I pushed through a crowd to find the cooler. While I checked out the beers, picking out a Rolling Rock, Beth checked out the wainscoting.

“Nice,” she said. “Maybe I should get some.”

“I think wainscoting becomes you.”

“I think so, too. And look at these floors.”

“Yep, they’re floors, all right.”

“No, the wood, the finish. I think the first thing after closing on my house I’ll get the floors done. Sand them smooth, lighten them up. Maybe a nice blond.”

“Funny, I’m looking for the same thing. But I find this new-homeowner thing you have going on a bit disturbing.”